Bio:

My name’s Beth Wolfe, and I’m the, well, sort of the local law enforcement around here. Nice place they’ve got you set up with here. Very nice. Vegas treating you okay so far? Heat’s not getting to you, I hope?

Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll get to the point. I’ve been sent to… well, all right, that’s bullshit. No one sent me. I came all by my own self because I’m the only one that gives a damn. I know you’re the “ambassador”, and you’re here from the best freehold in the whole country, and that’s great. Fine. Peachy-fuckin’-keen. But I’m the law among the Lost in this town, okay? And you really, really strike me as the type to stir things up just by being here. And that’s the last thing I need.

Look, Jesus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear at you. Got a light? Thanks. It’s been just a fucking great day. Some prick from Houston blows in to the market, picks a fight with one of the vendors (I know, how retarded do you have to be to make trouble with the hobs?), gets his dumb-ass thrown in a sling and suddenly he’s “demanding satisfaction” with the freehold! Demanding satisfaction? Are we in the fucking 19th century? Does this look like a fucking dueling pistol to you? Jesus H.

Anyway, that’s about par for the course here in Vegas. Spring runs this town, everyone knows it, no matter the season. And those punks are too busy getting laid or high to give a shit about anything other than prank calling my fucking office to ask me who John Galt is. Really? Are we fucking twelve?

You said it, man. We’re a weird bunch. Just keep out of trouble, okay? You seem decent enough to me, and it’s too fucking hot out for me to have to clean you off the sidewalk if you piss someone off. I hate July.